The JURN – Live at The Alamo’s Basement Bar

SAN ANTONIO, TX | April 30, 2025
By the time I found the entrance, the air was already vibrating.

They don’t advertise The Alamo’s Basement Bar. Hell, officially it doesn’t exist. Some say it was carved out in the ‘70s by acid-burnt roadies hiding from the IRS. Others swear it’s a repurposed crypt, sealed off until someone blew the hinges off with a stolen amp and a dream.

Either way, that’s where The JURN played last night.

The doorman didn’t speak. He just nodded toward a narrow staircase behind a mop sink. The descent felt like falling into a fever dream—flickering lights, walls plastered with band flyers dating back to bands that never existed, and the distant echo of soundcheck feedback sharp enough to cut glass.

The crowd was already packed in—bikers, goths, oilmen, and at least one lizard in a trench coat. Some said they came for the music. Others for the absolution.

Then they arrived.

The JURN walked in like a funeral procession that forgot the body. Vox up front, stone-faced, carrying what looked like a homemade guitar built from a tombstone. Taz behind him, knuckles already cracked. Riff-Rot stared through people. Sir Bonecrush, wearing medieval armor under a trench coat, set up the drums without saying a word. No one had seen Strumshade all night. Rumor was he was still missing from the last gig.

The set? A sonic crucifixion.
Three songs in, the power cut. They didn’t stop.
Five songs in, someone burst into flames.
Seven songs in, I swear to God, I saw the shadow of Davy Crockett nodding along behind the bar.

After the encore—a 13-minute dirge called “Echoes Beneath the Floorboards”—the band vanished. No merch table. No setlist. Just an empty stage and a tip jar full of teeth.

As I stumbled back into the street, ears bleeding and boots vibrating, a man in a mariachi suit whispered, “They’re headed east. Following the ley lines.”

If you hear the bass rumble under your feet and your lights start to dim, it’s already too late.
Check your basement.
They might be playing under your house.